‘Khwaj!’ Sparhawk barked in the language of Trolls, ‘I am Sparhawk-from-Elenia. I have the rings. Khwaj must do as I command.’
Bhelliom shuddered in his hand.
‘I seek Martel-from-Elenia,’ Sparhawk continued. ‘Martel-from-Elenia stayed in this place two sleeps ago. Khwaj will show Sparhawk-from-Elenia what he wishes to see in the fire. Khwaj will make it so Sparhawk-from-Elenia can hear what he wishes to hear. Khwaj will obey! Now!’
Faintly, as from very far away in some hollow place filled with echoes, there came a howl of rage, a howl overlaid with a crackling sound as of some huge fire. The flames dancing along the tops of the oak logs in the fireplace lowered until they were little more than a sickly glimmering. Then they rose, bright yellow and filling the entire opening with a sheet of nearly incandescent fire. Then they froze, no longer a flickering or a dancing but simply a flat, unwavering sheet of motionless yellow. The heat from the fireplace stopped at once as if a pane of thick glass had been set in front of it.
Sparhawk found himself looking into a tent. Martel, drawn and weary-looking, sat at a rough table across from Annias, who looked even worse.
‘Why can’t you find out where they are?’ the Primate of Cimmura was demanding.
‘I don’t know, Annias,’ Martel grated. ‘I’ve called up every creature Otha gave me, and none of them has found anything.’
‘Oh, mighty Pandion,’ Annias sneered. ‘Maybe you should have stayed in your order longer to give Sephrenia time to teach you more than parlour tricks for the amusement of children.’
‘You’re getting very close to the point of outliving your usefulness to me, Annias,’ Martel said ominously. ‘Otha and I can put any Churchman on the Archprelate’s throne and achieve what we want. You’re not really indispensable, you know.’ And that answered the question of just who was taking orders from whom once and for all.
The tent-flap opened, and the ape-like Adus slouched in. His armour was a mismatched accumulation of bits and pieces of rust-splotched steel drawn from a half-dozen different cultures. Adus, Sparhawk noticed again, had no forehead. His hairline began at his shaggy eyebrows. ‘It died,’ he reported in a voice that was half-snarl.
‘I should make you walk, you idiot,’ Martel told him.
‘It was a weak horse,’ Adus shrugged.
‘It was perfectly fine until you spurred it to death. Go and steal another one.’
Adus grinned. ‘A farm horse?’
‘Any kind of horse you can find. Don’t take all night killing the farmer, though – or amusing yourself with his women. And don’t burn the farmstead down. Let’s not light up the sky and announce our location.’
Adus laughed – at least it sounded sort of like a laugh. Then he left the tent.
‘How can you stand that brute?’ Annias shuddered.
‘Adus? He’s not so bad. Think of him as a walking battle-axe. I use him for killing people; I don’t sleep with him. Speaking of that, have you and Arissa resolved your differences yet?’
‘That harlot!’ Annias said with a certain contempt.
‘You knew what she was when you took up with her, Annias,’ Martel told him. ‘I thought her depravity was part of what attracted you to her.’ Martel leaned back. ‘It must be Bhelliom,’ he mused.
‘What must?’
‘It’s probably the Bhelliom that’s keeping my creatures from locating Sparhawk.’
‘Wouldn’t Azash Himself be able to find out?’
‘I don’t give orders to Azash, Annias. If He wants me to know something, He tells me. It could just be that Bhelliom’s more powerful than He is. When we get to His temple, you can ask Him, if you’re really curious about it. The question might offend Him, but it’s entirely up to you.’
‘How far have we come today?’
‘No more than seven leagues. Our pace slowed noticeably after Adus ripped out his horse’s guts with his spurs.’
‘How far to the Zemoch border?’
Martel unrolled a map and consulted it. ‘I make it about fifty more leagues – five days or so. Sparhawk can’t be more than three days behind us, so we’ll have to keep up the pace.’
‘I’m exhausted, Martel. I can’t keep on going like this.’
‘Every time you start brooding about how tired you are, just imagine how it would feel to have Sparhawk’s sword sliding through your guts – or how exquisitely painful it’s going to be when Ehlana beheads you with a pair of sewing scissors – or a bread-knife.’
‘Sometimes I wish I’d never met you, Martel.’
‘The feeling’s entirely mutual, old boy. Once we cross the border into Zemoch, we should be able to slow Sparhawk down a bit. A few ambushes along the way ought to make him a bit more cautious.’
‘We were ordered not to kill him,’ Annias objected.
‘Don’t be an idiot. As long as he has Bhelliom, no human could possibly kill him. We were ordered not to kill him – even if we could – but Azash didn’t say anything about the others. The loss of a few of his companions might upset our invincible enemy. He doesn’t look very much like it, but Sparhawk’s a sentimentalist at heart. You’d better go and get some sleep. We’ll start out again just as soon as Adus gets back.’
‘In the dark?’ Annias sounded incredulous.
‘What’s the matter, Annias? Are you afraid of the dark? Think about swords in the belly or the sound of a bread-knife sawing on your neck bone. That should make you brave.’
‘Khwaj!’ Sparhawk said sharply. ‘Enough! Go away now!’
The fire returned to normal.
‘Blue-Rose!’ Sparhawk said then. ‘Bring the voice of Ghnomb to me!’
‘What are you doing?’ Sephrenia exclaimed, but Bhelliom had already started to respond. The pinpoint of light within the glowing blue petals was a sickly mixture of green and yellow, and Sparhawk suddenly had a foul taste in his mouth, a taste much like the smell of half-decayed meat.
‘Ghnomb!’ Sparhawk said in that harsh voice. ‘I am Sparhawk-from-Elenia, and I have the rings. Ghnomb must do as I command. I hunt. Ghnomb will help me hunt. I am two sleeps behind the man-thing which is my prey. Ghnomb will make it so that my hunters and I can catch the man-thing we seek. Sparhawk-from-Elenia will tell Ghnomb when, and Ghnomb will aid our hunt. Ghnomb will obey!’
Again there was that hollow, echoing howl of rage, a howl filled this time with a slobbering gnawing sound and a horrid, wet smacking of lips.
‘Ghnomb! Go away now!’ Sparhawk commanded. ‘Ghnomb will come again at Sparhawk-from-Elenia’s command!’
The greenish-yellow spot vanished, and Sparhawk thrust the Bhelliom back into the pouch.
‘Are you mad?’ Sephrenia exclaimed.
‘No, I don’t think so. I want to be so close behind Martel that he won’t have time to set up any ambushes.’ He frowned. ‘It’s beginning to look as if the attempts to kill me really were Martel’s own idea,’ he said. ‘He seems to have different orders now. That clarifies things a bit, but now I have to start worrying about how to protect you and the others.’ He made a face. ‘There’s always something, isn’t there?’
Chapter 22
‘Sparhawk.’ It was Kurik, and he was shaking his Lord into wakefulness. ‘It’s about an hour before dawn. You wanted me to wake you.’
‘Don’t you ever sleep?’ Sparhawk sat up in his bed, yawning. Then he swung his legs out of bed and put his feet on the floor.
‘I slept fine.’ Kurik looked critically at his friend. ‘You’re not eating enough,’ he accused. ‘Your bones are sticking out. Get dressed. I’ll go and wake the others, and then I’ll come back and help you into your armour.’
Sparhawk rose and pulled on his quilted and rust-splotched undergarments.
‘Very chic,’ Stragen observed sardonically from the doorway. ‘Is there some obscure part of the knightly code that prohibits laundering those garments?’
‘They take a week to dry.’
‘Are they really necessary?’
‘Have you ever worn armour, Stragen?’
‘God forbid.’
‘Try it sometime. The padding keeps the armour from grinding off your skin in unusual places.’
‘Ah, the things we endure in order to be stylish.’
‘Are you really planning to turn back at the Zemoch border?’
‘The queen’s orders, old boy. Besides, I’d just be in your way. I’m profoundly unsuited to confront a God. Frankly, I think you’re insane – no offence intended, of course.’
‘Are you going back to Emsat from Cimmura?’
‘If your wife gives me permission to leave. I really should get back – if only to check over the books. Tel’s fairly dependable, but he is a thief, after all.’
‘And then?’
‘Who knows?’ Stragen shrugged. ‘I’m at loose ends in the world, Sparhawk. I have a unique sort of freedom. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do. Oh, I almost forgot. I didn’t really come by this morning to discuss the ins and outs of liberty with you.’ He reached inside his doublet. ‘A letter for you, My Lord,’ he said with a mocking bow. ‘From your wife, I believe.’
‘How many of those do you have?’ Sparhawk asked, taking the folded sheet. Stragen had delivered one of Ehlana’s brief, impassioned notes to her husband in Kadach and yet another in Motera.
‘That’s a state secret, my friend.’
‘Do you have some sort of agenda? Or are you distributing them when the spirit moves you?’
‘A little of each, old boy. There is an agenda, of course, but I’m to use my own judgement in these matters. If I see that you’re becoming downcast or moody, I’m supposed to brighten your day. I’ll leave you to your reading now.’ He stepped back out into the hallway and moved off down the corridor towards the stairs leading to the lower floor of the inn.
Sparhawk broke the seal and opened Ehlana’s letter.
‘Beloved,’ it began. ‘If all has gone well, you’re in Paler by now – this is terribly awkward, you know. I’m trying to look into the future, and my eyes aren’t strong enough for that. I’m talking to you from weeks and weeks in the past, and I haven’t the faintest idea of what’s been happening to you. I dare not tell you of my anguish or my desolation at this unnatural separation, for should I unburden my heart to you, I would weaken your resolve, and that could endanger you. I love you, my Sparhawk, and I am torn between wishing that I were a man so that I could share your danger and, if need be, lay down my life for you, and glorying in the fact that I am a woman and can lose myself in your embrace.’ From there Sparhawk’s young queen launched into detailed reminiscence of their wedding night which was far too personal and private to bear repeating.
‘How was the queen’s letter?’ Stragen asked as they were saddling their horses in the courtyard while the emerging dawn laid a dirty stain across the cloudy eastern horizon.
‘Literate,’ Sparhawk replied laconically.
‘That’s an unusual characterization.’
‘Sometimes we lose sight of the real person lying behind the state robes, Stragen. Ehlana’s a queen, right enough, but she’s also an eighteen-year-old girl who seems to have read too many of the wrong books.’
‘I’d hardly have expected such a clinical description from a new bridegroom.’
‘I have a lot on my mind just now.’ Sparhawk pulled the cinch of his saddle tighter. Faran grunted, filled his belly with air and deliberately stepped on his master’s foot. Almost absently, the Pandion kneed his mount in the stomach. ‘Keep your eyes open today, Stragen,’ he advised. ‘Some peculiar things are likely to happen.’
‘Such as what?’
‘I’m not really sure. If everything goes well, we’ll cover a great deal more ground today than usual. Stay with the Domi and his Peloi. They’re an emotional people, and out of the ordinary things sometimes upset them. Just keep assuring them that everything’s under control.’
‘Is it?’
‘I haven’t got the foggiest idea, old boy. I’m trying very hard to be optimistic about it, however.’ Stragen, he felt, sort of had that coming.
The dawn came slowly that morning, since the cloud-cover rolling in from the east had thickened during the night. At the top of the long slope leading up from the northern end of the lead-grey sheet of Lake Randera, Kring and his Peloi joined them. ‘It’s good to be back in Pelosia again, friend Sparhawk,’ Kring said, a good-humoured grin on his scarred face, ‘even in this cluttered and over-ploughed part of the kingdom.’
‘How many days to the Zemoch border, Domi?’ Tynian asked.
‘Five or six, friend Tynian,’ the Domi replied.
‘We’ll start out in just a few moments,’ Sparhawk told his friends. ‘There’s something Sephrenia and I have to do.’ He motioned to his tutor and they rode some distance away from the group sitting their horses on the grassy hilltop. ‘Well?’ he said to her.
‘Must you really do this, dear one?’ she pleaded.
‘I think so, yes. It’s the only way I can think of to protect you and the others from ambushes when we reach the Zemoch border.’ He reached inside his surcoat, removed the pouch and took off his gauntlets. Once again the Bhelliom felt very cold in his hands, a chill almost like the touch of ice. ‘Blue-Rose!’ he commanded, ‘bring the voice of Ghnomb to me!’
The jewel sullenly warmed in his hands. Then the greenish-yellow spot appeared within its depths, accompanied by the rotten-meat taste in Sparhawk’s mouth. ‘Ghnomb!’ he said, ‘I am Sparhawk-from-Elenia, and I have the rings. I hunt now. Ghnomb will aid my hunting as I commanded. Ghnomb will do it! Now!’
He waited tensely, but nothing happened. He sighed. ‘Ghnomb!’ he said. ‘Go away now!’ He put the Sapphire Rose back into its pouch, knotted the strings and thrust the pouch back inside his surcoat. ‘Well,’ he said ruefully, ‘so much for that. You said He’d let me know if He couldn’t help. He just let me know, all right. It’s a little awkward to find out about it at this stage of the proceedings, though.’
‘Don’t give up just yet, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia told him.
‘Nothing happened, little mother.’
‘Don’t be too sure.’
‘Well, let’s go on back. It seems we’re going to have to do this the hard way.’
The party rode out at a brisk trot, moving down the far side of the hill with the pale disc of the new-risen sun hanging behind the clouds on the eastern horizon. The farmland lying to the east of Paler was in the last stages of the harvest, and serfs were already in the fields, small figures in dun or blue looking like immobile toys far back from the road.
‘Serfdom doesn’t seem to encourage much enthusiasm for work,’ Kurik observed critically. ‘Those people out there don’t seem to be moving at all.’
‘If I were a serf, I don’t think I’d be very interested in exerting myself either,’ Kalten said.
They rode on at a canter, crossed a wide valley and climbed a low chain of hills. The clouds were a bit thinner here to the east, and the sun, just above the horizon, was more distinct. Kring sent out his patrols, and they rode on.
Something was wrong, but Sparhawk could not exactly put his finger on what it was. The air was very still, and the sound of the horses’ hooves seemed quite loud and unnaturally crisp in the soft dirt of the road. Sparhawk looked around and saw that his friends’ expressions seemed uneasy.
They were halfway across the next valley when Kurik reined in with a sudden oath. ‘That does it,’ he said.
‘What’s the matter?’ Sparhawk asked him.
‘How long would you say we’ve been on the road?’
‘An hour or so. Why?’
‘Look at the sun, Sparhawk.’
Sparhawk looked at the eastern horizon where the almost obscured disc of the sun hung just over a gently rounded line of hills. ‘It seems to be where it always is, Kurik,’ he said. ‘Nobody’s moved it.’
‘That’s just the point, Sparhawk. It’s not moving. It hasn’t moved an inch
since we started. It came up, and then it stopped.’
They all stared towards the east.
‘It’s fairly common, Kurik,’ Tynian said. ‘We’ve been riding up and down hills. That always seems to put the sun in a different position. Where it seems to be depends on how high up – or down – the hill you are.’
‘I thought so myself, Sir Tynian – at first – but I’ll swear to you that the sun hasn’t moved since we left that hilltop to the east of Paler.’
‘Be serious, Kurik,’ Kalten scoffed. ‘The sun has to move.’
‘Not this morning apparently. What’s going on here?’
‘Sir Sparhawk!’ Berit’s voice was shrill, hovering just on the edge of hysteria. ‘Look!’
Sparhawk turned his head in the direction the apprentice knight was pointing a shaking hand.
It was a bird – a completely ordinary-looking bird, a lark of some kind, Sparhawk judged. Nothing at all was unusual about it – if one were to overlook the fact that it hung absolutely motionless in mid-air, looking for all the world as if it had been stuck there with a pin.
They all looked around, their eyes a little wild. Then Sephrenia began to laugh.
‘I don’t really see anything funny about this, Sephrenia,’ Kurik told her.
‘Everything’s fine, gentlemen,’ she told them.
‘Fine?’ Tynian said. ‘What’s happened to the sun? – and that idiotic bird?’
‘Sparhawk stopped the sun – and the bird.’
‘Stopped the sun!’ Bevier exclaimed. ‘That’s impossible!’
‘Apparently not. Sparhawk talked with one of the Troll-Gods last night,’ she told them. ‘He said that we were hunting and that our prey was far ahead of us. He asked the Troll-God Ghnomb to help us catch up, and Ghnomb seems to be doing just that.’
‘I don’t follow you,’ Kalten said. ‘What’s the sun got to do with hunting?’
‘It’s not all that complicated, Kalten,’ she said calmly. ‘Ghnomb stopped time, that’s all.’
‘That’s all? How do you stop time?’
‘I have no idea.’ She frowned. ‘Maybe “stopping time” isn’t quite accurate. What’s really happening is that we’re moving outside time. We’re in that winking of an eye between one second and the next.’